Fallen And Forgotten
by FrayRay
Summary: One child remained unseen, eventually forgotten, to the world and to time.


For once, he stared up and saw clear, blue skies.

For once, he sat in a field of lush greenery.

For once, he heard the absence of undead growling, and instead the ambience of chirping birds and rustling trees. Where once flames scourged the land and brought a pressurizing heat to all, now was simply waves of a breeze brushing against the grass. The severity of the contrast was still alien to him, as he still gazed upon it all with a face of loss and confusion. From whence did this come? What brought it? What triggered it? Why did it happen?

The tales of the Sheperds' victory sang through the land like a choir in a theater. A tale of five gemstones – Azure, Gules, Sable, Argent and Vert – and their embedment into a sacred shield, bringing about an end to the Dark God, the Fell Dragon, Grima. Yet most importantly, the tale spoke of the twelve heroes that united these six relics and struck down said fallen god. Men and women of the kingdom of Ylisse, some descended form warriors of foreign lands, connecting these relics into a blinding light. The moral of the story spoke of how unity, nobility, sacrifice and persistence can bring about any change, and even bring down the reign of a god.

Yet the real change was brought by the mere gifting on old book.

* * *

As he saw it, the Risen under his command had cornered the four holders of Azure and Gules. A pegasus knight, an archer, a heavy knight and a manakete. He'd orchestrated it perfectly. They would seek shelter from a long trek after obtaining two of the five gemstones, logically driving them to the nearest structure they could find, and the fort they convened happened to be the only structure found in miles - purposefully, mind that. The Fell Dragon's rise brought about destruction of otherworldly caliber, yet it was the boy's idea to leave one standing every few miles for the sake of accommodation for the few living troops, or to calculate an ambush - it was as if he foresaw this fight years in advance.

The plan was simple; surround the fort - knights and generals at the entrances, cavaliers and mounted units outside to ensure none escaped, wyvern riders swarming the top in case the pegasus knight or manakete attempted an aerial escape, sorcerers against the walls for reinforcements and whatever he desired to keep the girls pinned down. Four measly children couldn't take an army of Risen of this caliber, even if one of them was born part dragon. It was foolproof. It was only a matter of time, time that was fading ever so quickly. Even with the enemy's sudden reinforcements, if the Risen didn't kill the holders, the burning tower would. He needn't even lift a finger. He was there primarily to watch like an eager theater goer with a front row seat.

And then he saw her.

"Ahh! Master Grima!" He yelped.

If it weren't for the hood he wore, she'd stare him in the eyes - a move that would've only shook him to the point of cracking. She plainly responded, "Huh?"

Ignorant to the blatantly human confusion, he continued, "What are you doing here? Please, return to the Dragon's Table! It's too dangerous here!"

"What are you talking about?"

 _That_ one he heard. His focus was now in her eyes - the way they had not been in ages. Bright. Diluted. Earnest. The unholy aura, capable of bringing forth calamity upon calamity with the mere crack of a smile, was absent. The black, withering flames that usually encompassed her, that personified the wilting nature of the land they stood in, wasn't felt. The tremors and pressure that came with the Fell Dragon's descent were never felt; not by them nor the burning fort.

"... You're not Master Grima?"

"I think you have the wrong person. I'm not even from this world. I only just arrived here to lend the Ylisseans what help I can."

... What?

* * *

He stared down at the strategy record of his own possession. It was a tad tattered, yet mostly in tact. A blessing, considering the state the world was in just less than a year prior.

Then he looked to the double. The copy. The new one.

* * *

The white haired boy was not unfamiliar with the Outrealms. He remembers how his mo- Master Grima had theorized about them in her notes. Gateways to alternate worlds not so dissimilar to one's own world, even with identical prospects. At some point, she even toyed with the idea of using Outrealms for conquest, expanding her armies and overwhelming foes with realities upon realities of Risen soldiers; Yet tried as she did, she was unsuccessful (as she told him). As such, the strategy was scrapped, never to be spoken of again. Yet here he saw the most prevalent form of proof that the strategy worked - in the enemy's favor.

"You're from another world?" She may have taken note of his underwhelming surprise, were it important, "Then that makes you... No. This is dreadful news. I must alert my master that reinforcements have arrived... But..."

"You seem troubled."

Whether her obliviousness was authentic, or a complete and intentional front made to discern him, it hurt him nonetheless. He thought of how cruel she was, were the latter true...and tactical.

"That's not your concern!" He couldn't help but snap, "Why did you tell me you're in league with the Ylisseans?"

He didn't want to look at her.

"Not a sound strategy, is it?"

The way she looked at him was the soundest strategy she's ever concocted in recent memory.

"What if I'm with the enemy?"

He didn't want to be her enemy. He wanted to fight, plan and prosper next to her.

"I could report your arrival and summon more Risen."

 _He didn't want to_.

* * *

The only possession he had to remember her were her books. Her last confections before embodying the mind and title of the very harbinger that reddened the world, and needing only the loyalty of the Risen and a few subjects to accomplish their...her goal.

* * *

The few seconds in wait of a response felt like ages to him. He could sense her planning every word, and it's tone, carefully. She was trying to shake him. Earn his trust - or rather, steal it from she who already had it.

"I suppose. That hood does make you look a but shady." She deadpanned, ending with a smile, "But something in my gut tells me you're no enemy of mine."

...of all things, a gut feeling? "A tactician ought to base her judgments on more than a gut feeling."

The smirk she wore was the same when they used to play board game strategies against each other, "Oh? And how did you know I was a tactician?"

"I have my ways." The less she saw his allegiance wavering, the better.

She then looked at him with a mix of seriousness and curiosity, "You know me."

 _Don't I know you_ , he thought in hidden agony.

"Or at least you know me in this world." She shrugged, "And based on your concern before, I can only surmise I'm someone you care about... Isn't that right?"

He internally pleaded her to stop. She was turning the knife stabbed through his heart.

He thought best to play it safe and defensively, "So what if you are? You won't get me to talk, no matter how you torture me. I know where my allegiance lies. I trust that your-..."

He was breaking. Albeit slowly, but surely, he was breaking at the sight of her.

"...that _her_ path is the correct one." He finished.

She then began speaking aloud, as if to no one in particular, "I don't know what the other me in this world is up to, but I'll tell you one thing." She bent over to his presumed eye level, yet still blocked by the hood, with a few words that nearly broke him.

"She's lucky to have you."

* * *

The cloaks they wore were similar, but not the exact same. His bore the Grimleal emblem - the six hungry eyes if the Fell Dragon - on its back, like a badge of honor, whereas hers was blank on the back. A blank slate, like she assumed to be. Something clear and simple, but can be so much more.

Something he wished he was.

* * *

His facade was breaking, "I...I said that's none of your concern!" His hood and voice did well to hide his tears.

She retained her posture and backed away a small pace, "You're right. I overstepped my boundaries." She reached into her cloak for something, "Here! Let me give you this as a way of apologizing." He saw it was a book, and some part of him hoped it was a tome, to remind himself that she was an enemy, an obstacle that needed to be overcome for his side's cause - for her cause!

He took it, "What is it?"

"It's one of my favorite books. It details my basic battle strategies." She calmly boasted, turning to her side, "Perhaps it might benefit one so obviously fond of tacticians." She turned to leave.

"...But isn't this special to you?" He just realized the crevice in his tone, sentiment gushing out of the dam in his voice. Only then did he realize to fix it, "And more importantly, aren't you worried we'll use it against you? I could end your little crusade right here and now!" He was getting desperate, and they both knew it, but didn't address it. At least, not blatantly.

"You could. But you won't." She said, back facing him and walking away like she'd already won.

"What makes you so sure?!"

She turned back to him with the most motherly smile.

"You remind me of someone too. Someone very special to me." Their eyes locked for but a few moments, until her shrug broke it, "Again. it's a gut feeling, but I do not believe you wish me harm."

He only wished the best for his mother.

She looked back to the battle in the central rooms of the fort, "Time is running short, and I need to go." She turned back to him, seeing his eyes, and most definitely, his tears, "But I'm glad we had this chance to talk."

* * *

When the failure of that mission past, the otherworldly armies having vanished, and the four holders of the gemstones escaped, he made his way back to Plegia, back to the Dragon's Table...only to see and hear of the Fell Dragon's absence. As he reported his failure to the few remaining Grimleal monks, they gave him word that she traveled towards the capitol known as Ylisstol to claim victory from the root of the problem; the Falchion, the princess of Ylisse, Vert, and the Fire Emblem.

A week passed, and he received the truth.

Grima had fallen.

His mother had died.

* * *

He was too deep in the abyss of his daydreams to notice the tears dropping on both books. Upon realization, he lightly wiped them with his sleeve and tucked them back into his cloak. He stood up, staring towards the newly blue sky, pondering his options.

Through the last half year, he had wandered aimlessly. Looting off Risen and bandits that happened to have anything of value on them and the occasional hunting and trap laying for food were his primary methods of survival. As he remembers the battle from way back when, none of the Sheperds caught a glimpse of his face. He maintained his position, hood worn and watching from afar. Their closest interaction with enemy troops primarily consisted of the other world's Robin. As such, no one's seen his face. In this world brought back to the Divine Dragon's hold, he still drew breath. 'What should he do with that breath' was the unanswered question.

* * *

 **Thumbnail comes from AlexiusSana on DeviantART.**


End file.
